First-class flights, chauffeurs and bribery: the secret life of a private tutor

By Emma Irving

British books are shit,” Yusuf says, slamming shut my copy of “Pride and Prejudice”. “Just Western propaganda. Like the BBC, and the Queen.” Pale light filters through the heavy silk curtains. I have been sitting in the pit of this cavernous townhouse in Belgravia, London, for two hours with a meaty 15-year-old who has a passion for £3,000 ($3,800) Turkish vodka and ethno-nationalism (the one, I imagine, fuels the other).

So far, Yusuf has discussed his distaste for British women, the way he gets around masturbation (“It’s not allowed in my culture, so I pay someone to do it for me”) and his ardent belief in a resurgent Ottoman Empire. I am meant to be preparing him for his GCSEs, national exams taken in a range of subjects at the age of 16, as well as the interview process for entry to a new school at sixth form, the final two years of secondary education. “These schools should be applying to have me,” he says. “Can’t we just buy a library or something?”